


Alone

by bluesargayent



Category: Venice - Sax/Rosen
Genre: F/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Short, and like one of the first works at all for this fandom, lowkey regret writing this but whatever, what's up guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesargayent/pseuds/bluesargayent
Summary: "He was alone.This wasn't supposed to happen."Theodore during "Citizens of Venice"





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I just started to this musical recently and I am obsessed. "I Wanna Be Great" is one of my many favorite songs, and I just wanted to do something a little more with Theodore Westbrook. So, I made this. Enjoy!

“No.” Theodore shook his head. “No. You’re lying.”

The messenger standing in the bedroom doorway took a half-step backwards, as though bracing himself against Theo’s explosive words. “I’m sorry, sir,” the man tried. He stood still a moment, as though waiting for another outburst, but when none came he spoke, “Would you like a minute on your own?”

Theodore’s silence was answer enough.

“I’ll be outside, sir. The guards have all been alerted, so . . . take your time.”

The messenger--Theo could never remember his name and right now he didn’t really care to try--stepped out. The door clicked shut. Once alone, Theodore crumpled the silk sheets from where he sat on his bed. Alone. 

He snatched his pillow, hand sewn and embroidered, from behind him and hurled it towards the dark abyss at the foot of his bed.

Alone.

He grabbed another. The cushion, more expensive than anything should ever be, barrelled through the air. He ran his hand behind him again, grasping whatever he could and jerking it off the bed. When he ran out of loose items, he scratched at the sheets and yanked them out from where they tucked under the mattress.

He was alone.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

His father told him--everyone told him--that his life was set since before he could talk. He could have everything without doing anything. He was practically royalty.

He just needed Willow.

But of course, _of course_ , that could never happen. Every day, Theodore woke up thinking his life was too good to be true, too scared to ever question anything lest it be revealed that it was.

He was supposed to have everything. He was supposed to have anything.

So long as Willow was next to him.

That stupid _b_ \--no, he could never call her that. Not even now.

Theodore took in a deep breathe before letting out a noise that was half-scream and half-sob. 

How could she do this?

How could she ruin his life?

He collapsed onto his back, mind swimming. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? Can he do anything?

He was alone.

He was alone, and useless.

And Willow . . . who knew where Willow was. When she walked, she floated on her own ambition. Her hopes and dreams clouded her vision until she could no longer see reality.

Theodore had seen this. The way she talked of Venice, the hopeless cause. The way she talked of peace, as though it could actually be achieved.

The way she talked of life, as though there was more to it than making the best for yourself in a world plotting against you.

Internally, Theo punched himself. He should have shut her down. He should have stopped these irrational thought before they led to her running away.

But, of course, he could never. 

When it came to Willow, it was those impossible dreams that made her irresistible.

Apparently she never felt the same towards him.

He grabbed the hem of the fine silk sheets with both hands and pulled until the fabric frayed. They were expensive. They were the softest sheets out there. He had bought them for Willow. _Pointlessly_.

He had so much money. He tried pouring out his affection for her through buying everything she could ever want, but it seems he accidently drowned her in the process.

What else could she want?

He turned over onto his side, wishing she just would have told him. Whatever it was, he would have done it. He would have done it without question.

But she hadn't.

She left him.

Theodore Westbrook was on his own.

And, for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to expect.


End file.
